The Pangalactic Attack
by adcon
Summary: A new enemy, more ancient than imagination, attacks the Lylat system, leaving ruins in its wake. Who is this new enemy, and can they ever be defeated? Crossover with... you'll have to find out for yourself.
1. Prologue

Wow, haven't been here in years. Well, I figured it was time to take a break from the original and return to something more fun, so here you go. My first new fanfiction in ages. Enjoy.

* * *

Lieutenant Arlington eyed the heads up display, running the numbers through his head. Fuel was nominal, power count was high, and the shields were holding and steady. The Triwing fighter was performing admirably. Now if only the war effort could follow suit…

A quick flip of the com switch and his voice carried over the radio. "You all know the plan. We escort these bombers to the target site and back. Keep your eyes out for bogeys and AA sites. Over and out." Words of acknowledgement spoke back into his headset, his men letting him know they were still in formation. Arlington nodded silently. He knew them well. They would follow him into the mouths of Hell if he gave the order.

And as of now, he had. The battle raged down below, Lylat forces battling the mysterious invaders over the desert. The fight for planet Hylyas had raged for three standard galactic days now, and the enemy forces had steadily advanced in that time. Explosions raged from the ground, armored divisions going up from artillery fire, and counter battery fire spitting plasma in response. The air was no better, jets and spacecraft from both sides strafing the ground forces and blowing each other out of the sky. It was the chaos of war. And they were flying straight into it.

Two Cobra-class bombers flanked either side of Arlington's fighter from behind, their sides surrounded by other Triwings. They were his quarry, both carrying two size-three Nova bombs, aptly named for the bloom they create when set off, as well as the amount of destruction they cause. They were the last of such weapons available to the allied forces on this world, their very usage indicating just how far things had fallen.

His radar chirped, bringing Arlington back to the present. A squadron of enemy fighters closed in quickly. "Tangos coming, twelve o'clock," he warned. "Stick to your zones. The bombers take priority." No sooner had he spoke those words the enemy craft began firing, causing his unit to evade.

They were strong pilots, his men. They had to be to survive against such an unrelenting foe for so long. They dodged and weaved, the Triwings and the enemy craft. Shots were traded, and hot plasma of two different types danced in the air. Arlington's own craft buckled, catching some weapons' fire, and he pulled a tight turn, getting himself out of the line of fire.

The bombers and fighters pushed forward, despite the harassment. As enemy fighters dropped from the sky, their target crept ever closer, the large enemy encampment kilometers away. Their objective was nearly completed. All they had to do was escort the two bombers to it and let them drop their ordinance.

Unfortunately, they would never get the chance. Anti-aircraft fire blazed from the desert floor, aimed at their position. Two wingmen never had a chance, their craft's exploding on contact with the golden plasma bolts. The remaining craft spread out to make themselves harder targets. The bombers, however, didn't have a prayer. They were swat out of the air like flies, their unarmed Nova bombs torn apart in the fall. Their mission was a failure, and in all likelihood the planet would be lost to these invaders.

An explosion rocked the underside of Arlington's Triwing, throwing him into his harness and sending his fighter into a dive. Klaxons sounded inside the cockpit, warning him of the extensive damage inflicted. He battled with the joystick, pulling it with all his might, but the ship continued to fall from the sky. The Lieutenant's paw reached for the eject lever and pulled… but got no reaction. The eject system must have been damaged with the rest of the ship.

It was going to be a bumpy landing.

Arlington opened one of his eyes. A broken out windshield met his gaze. Somehow, he had survived the crash, but had paid a severe price for it. He could feel himself broken all over, from snout to toe. His body ached surprisingly little, possibly numb from the shock of so many injuries at once. It didn't matter, he couldn't move anyway.

The battle continued to rage without him, the sounds of the fighting echoing into the now open craft. He knew this was a battle they could no longer win.

Footsteps approached, boots crunching rocks into dry dirt. The canine tried to move, an arm, a leg, anything, but the crash had stunned him viciously. He was helpless against whoever found him first.

A shadow flowed over Arlington. He looked up and recognized what had made it. Those smooth heads were hard to mistake for anything else. His eyes adjusted quickly enough, and he could spot the body armor those of the enemy infantry. His vision moved up and rested on the tattoo on the center of the bipedal creature's forehead, a black stylized eye. It was indeed one of the so-called "Jaffa."

The Jaffa reached for a radio attached to the body armor, speaking words from his alien language into it. He received a crackled reply almost at once, and turned back to Arlington. The rifle he held came to bear, and the egg-shaped apparatus in front opened and crackled with energy.

The last thing Arlington saw was a flash of golden light.

……………………..

The small hologram of Hylyas hovered above the platform. Its colored changed, shifting from a subtle blue to a dark red hue. The planet joined dozens like it, the latest of worlds taken by this new enemy.

"Goa'uld," their leaders called themselves. Tall, furless bipeds with uniforms and strange, ethereal voices. Their foot soldiers were more of the same, differing skin tones and shaved heads, all speaking in that unique language of theirs. It had been translated weeks ago, but spreading out those trained in it was proving difficult.

Fox sighed, and swept the image of the planet from his view. These past few months had been a hellish nightmare, and he didn't want any more reminders. The war effort was not going well.

They had come suddenly in their pyramid-shaped mother ships, hammering several of the most powerful worlds in the Lylat sector into submission. The worlds they attacked never had a chance. Their forces were swept away before any real sense of mobilization could occur. A massive retreat had been ordered by his old employer, General Pepper, ordering any surviving military to hyperspace out of the sector. Technically, he had no command over forces coming from other worlds aside from Corneria, but the remaining forces had accepted him as one the three de facto military leaders some time ago.

But the forces at their disposal were dwindling daily. Attacks on the Goa'uld always came with heavy expected losses, and victories were usually short-lived. The Lylat forces are outnumbered three to one, and the surprise attack had taken its toll. They couldn't keep up this war for long.

"It's getting worse, Fox," the image of General Pepper appeared on the wall screen. "Hylyas was fortified. We should have been able to hold them off until reinforcements arrived."

"But we didn't," the vulpine replied, turning away from the screen, "We wouldn't be having this meeting if we did."

Fox knew this was merely a courtesy call. At the moment, the mercenary group known as Star Fox stood at a membership of one. The team had been separated sometime after the initial attack. Skills of their caliber were in increasingly short supply, and Fox had been convinced they were stronger individually than together.

He still wondered if the decision had been the right one.

"What's the next plan?" the mercenary asked, "Assuming you have one."

"We're going to be trying something different this time," Pepper alluded. "We'll need your skills for this one."

Fox nodded, his attention taken hold. "Whatever it takes, sir."


	2. La Resistance

Fresh tangerines sat in a box on a plastic table, one of many choices from this particular vender. The orange-colored fruit had been stacked as a pyramid, although several spheres had been purchased or pilfered already. The feline poked around, viewing the items from different angles.

"Ya gonna pick something sometime soon?" the entrepreneur, a previously overweight gorilla, spat.

The feline looked back at him, a look of indignation upon her face. "Don't rush me," she said, purposefully waiting before picking up two tangerines. "How much?"

The gorilla shrugged. "What do ya got?"

The bartering system had made a full comeback here, since electronic credits had significantly lost their value, thanks to the destabilization of galactic economy. The feline reached into her large and produced a small paper page. She handed it over to the ape, and watched as he removed the item within.

"You're not going to find Macbethian cigars like that anymore, not here," she tempted as the ape took the stick and smelt it. He smiled, aroused by the aroma, and nodded to the feline.

"Alright. Fruit's yours." The feline nodded in return and placed the two tangerines in her inner coat pocket before moving on her way.

Corneria City had changed after the occupation began some months ago. The initial orbital barrage by the invading aliens had destroyed much of it, forcing the surviving populous to move to districts still standing. Strangely, this meant much of the commercial and high value property areas had been converted into mass living quarters. It had been an odd sight to see what was once a walkway reserved normally for busy businessman changed into an old-fashioned bazaar. Now it was merely routine.

The feline wandered her way though the shifting crowd. Various other venders had set up shop here, selling everything from clothing to dirty magazines and even still-charged portable power cells. She mused to herself, remarking how it appeared they had regressed culturally. They used to be a space-faring people with a federation spanning dozens of worlds; now they were reduced to selling smut on the street.

A pair of Jaffa patrols appeared on her right, and the feline found herself visibly stiffening. Unlike so many of her fellow citizens, she still found it difficult to ignore the hairless beasties and their large blaster rifles. Granted, she had good reason to be wary of the pair and others like them, but she knew continued survival meant blending in with the crowd.

Pulling the cowl of her coat further over her head, she trekked on, eventually leaving the bazaar and the two-man patrol behind. The feline relaxed when she finally moved out of their eyesight, thankful she hadn't been noticed yet again. While her track record had been excellent so far, a couple close calls had taught her just how fragile that status truly was.

A large skyscraper with the Space Dynamics logo stamped upon it towered above the feline, and she wandered though the revolving doors at the street level entrance. Like so many of the still-standing buildings around it, the skyscraper had begun to house refugees unlucky or too late to grab a location down south, in the expensive residential district. Unlike said refugees, however, the feline took the staircase and made her way down to the basement.

An official-looking door with an official-looking sign proclaiming only authorized personal could continue stood at the bottom of the stairs. The feline pushed on it and strode though it nonchalantly, the door's lock having been broken months ago. She continued on, turning left then right down the dimly lit hallways, until arriving at a second door, alike the first, save that this one was guarded.

A bloodhound, much younger than the famous general, stood watch, his blaster rifle slightly aimed in the feline's direction, before he recognized who she was.

"Hey Katt," the drooped-ear canine said, lowering the weapon.

"Hey Eric," she replied, and waited for the bloodhound to sound off a specific series of knocks. "Is Bill in?"

"When isn't he?" the dog concluded, nodding when the door behind him audibly unlocked. The feline gave him a subtle wave and proceeded on through into the resistance compound.

It wasn't much to look at from a single glance. A dozen people moved through the converted place, shuffling recording communiqués and handwritten accounts between one another. A series of old televisions had been stacked upon one another on a table, their screens displaying the view from several closed-circuit cameras hidden throughout the basement. In the center of the main room sat a larger table with a map of Corneria City spread out across it. Several locations had been marked upon it, mostly Jaffa guard stations and weapon storage areas. Resistance-related locations remained largely unmarked, save for the very safe house the feline was in, in case the map came under enemy hands.

She walked around the table and through the room, passing several closed doors and friendly armed guards before stopping at a non-descript entrance. Her knuckles rasped upon the door, getting her a reply from within.

"Come in," a voice said, and the feline obeyed, turning the handle and pushing forward. She found the object of her search scrunched over a military radio set, eyeing the screen and changing frequencies.

The feline produced the two pieces of fruit from her coat and tossed one over to the radioman, giving him a cautionary "Heads up."

Bill turned in his chair and caught the flying sphere, by now used to the routine. "Oranges?" he asked, already in the process of tearing off its skin.

"Tangerines," Katt corrected, doing the same to hers. "Had to trade a Macbethian cigar for them, a good one, too." She sighed. Things were only going to get more expensive as time went on.

The canine looked visibly wounded. "A Macbethian cigar? How could you trade such a fine work of art for _this?_" He held up the tangerine to emphasize his point, before biting into its juicy flesh.

The feline looked unimpressed. "You don't smoke."

"No time like the present to start," he grinned and took another bite.

Katt rolled her eyes and walked closer, taking a look at the radio set. "Any luck?"

Bill sighed and shook his head. "None what-so-ever. Just more of the same: no signals come in, no signals go out. If it isn't Jaffa-approved, it isn't going anywhere."

"But we have to keep trying, right?" the feline spoke, finishing her piece of fruit. "Somebody has to be out there listening."

"Of course. And when we do get a signal out, we can tell Fox to get his scrawny ass over here and save us."

Katt playfully placed her paws on her hips. "You know, we could always save ourselves."

The canine looked at her, his eyes filled with mock surprise. "What? We _can?_ What the hell are we doing here?" He jumped out of his seat. "C'mon, woman! We got a world to save!"

The feline pushed him back down into the chair, resting her paws on his shoulders. "And we'll do that once you get that radio working" she said, leaning in to brush her lips past his. "I've got a meeting to get to. See you tonight."

Bill turned back to the radio, a small smile growing on his face. "Already looking forward to it."


	3. Flying in the Black

The jump out of hyperspace was uneventful. A little shaking and rattling was expected. As long as parts weren't suddenly finding their way into open space, there wasn't much to worry about.

Aside from the fleet of enemy mother ships, anyway.

The blue falcon flipped a couple switches on the side of the cockpit, turning off the holographic HUD and darkening the physical displays. His lone wingman did the same, his black ship almost disappearing within the night of space. The two tapped their engines and coasted forward, letting inertia take them to their target.

"Another day, another set of photos," the avian muttered into his headset. He sighed; this wasn't how he expected to contribute to the war effort.

_"Perhaps this time we shall be discovered and be forced to battle our way to safety,"_ a voice said, coming through the intercom. _"Would that be preferable?"_

Falco shrugged, knowing the gesture was needless. "Hey, anything to liven things up."

The two Shade-class recon ships floated in the dark, rounding the green world they had jumped in behind. It was a nice little planet, unpopulated, with some scientific definition rather than a real name. The avian's rolled, the clear shield of the canopy now pointed toward the surface. His eyes moved upwards, taking the view of the planet into his memory.

_"What are you doing?"_ his wing mate spoke again, his voice flowing like a spring brook.

"We might not get a second chance," the blue bird replied, sneaking a look forward before returning his view to the planet. There was a beat of time, and then his wing mate's ship rolled as well, the top pointing down at the planet.

_"I didn't know you could be so… sentimental,"_ the voice came through again.

"Yeah, I can be real deep when I want to," Falco concluded. "Now let's get some freaking pictures so we can go home already."

Two small lights flashed briefly behind the ships, their engines flaring up to provide needed velocity. The mother ships loomed in the distance, their holding pattern just outside the planet's gravitational field. It would have been a fearful sight for anyone to witness, let alone two lightly armed stealth craft just floating over the horizon.

Thankfully, it appeared their craft's specifications were working. For the moment, they remained undetected.

"What's your count?" the bird asked.

_"Eight,"_ his wing man responded. _"Eight Ha'tak vessels."_

"Great," the bird muttered, activating the thrusters to push him off to the side, "more things waiting to kill us."

They remained in silence after that, their time taken up by the mission objective. The two black ships floated around the Ha'taks, the cameras on their noses maneuvering and zooming in to get the best possible shots. These pictures were necessary for the war effort; the allied fleet had been unable to capture any mother ships during their skirmishes, they were always self-destructed by the crew before any boarding parties could take control. At the moment, these spy missions were the only way of obtaining concrete information on the enemy ships.

But knowing the facts didn't make Falco feel better about the current string of assignments he had been getting. He had been given command of a squadron of fighters, the informally named "Rippers," housed on the carrier vessel _Fortunate Son._ It wasn't a bad gig; although he was still unused to the leadership role he found thrust upon him. It felt uncomfortable, like wearing someone else's shoes. He didn't like the responsibility he had, watching over the lives of the men and women under his command.

Still, it was his job. He sure as hell wasn't going to mess it up.

With a final press of the button, the last needed picture was taken. And what do you know, their stealth ships had held up for another day. But there was always that chance of being detected and things going catastrophically wrong. That was part of the reason he usually took these missions for himself. It pained him every time he lost someone following his orders, and he took every chance he could to limit the possibility. His current wing man was more often than not the only other pilot he would allow to accompany him on such ventures, mostly because he just didn't like the guy.

"Alright, job's done," Falco spoke through the laser-based communication system, "Let's get the hell out of here."

_"Agreed,"_ Panther Caroso replied, his ship turning back the way they came. The avian followed suit, and the two wound their way around the planet again, making sure the big float rock was firmly between them and the enemy fleet before jumping out of the system.

They came, they went, and the enemy had no idea they were even there. It was as good enough of an outcome as any.


	4. The Lizard and the Hare

The _Autumn_ _Harbor _jostled; another barrage had slammed into its shields. The old warship groaned, but held together by what seemed sheer force of will. Peppy Hare quietly thanked the craft. It was an old soldier, like him. They wouldn't give in, not while there was fight in them left.

"Down to our last third!" the replacement tactical officer, a tired-looking lynx, shouted over the sirens, referring to the shields. Even with the recent retrofit, they were depleting faster than expected. Luckily, their ship wasn't the main target of the enemy fleet. They weren't quite important enough for that.

Maybe it was something they could use to their advantage. "Weapons?" the hare questioned, his paws gripping the main holographic table.

"Port cannons are heavily damaged, our point defense weapons are at half capacity, and we've exhausted our missile supply."

Peppy studied the miniature battle hovering above the table, mimicking the actions of the two battling fleets. A Ha'tak ship crumpled into destruction at the fore of enemy's front line, but two cruisers, and their crews, paid the ultimate price for it. But, even with that loss, they were holding their own.

"Turn us ninety degrees to port!" the hare ordered, eyes still glued to the holographic ships. "Bring our starboard cannons to bear!"

"Sir!" came the reply from the helmsman, a pink flamingo. The ship replied a moment later, moaning as its entire form turned in space. The starboard cannons fired after finally moving into position, landing bolts of plasma on several enemy ships. A smaller Al'kesh ship had been on the receiving end, and promptly exploded afterwards.

The new attack from the _Autumn_ _Harbor_ unfortunately bought itself more attention from the enemy fleet, and a new volley from their staff cannons honed in on the vessel. More klaxons blared, and the holographic display flickered, the table generating it giving off a small shower of sparks.

"Down to twenty percent!" the lynx shouted, covering his face with his arm when his own console malfunctioned.

"We just lost hyperdrive!" the previously silent operations officer shouted, her paws dancing over keys.

The hare cringed inwardly. The hyperdrive was their escape plan. If all else failed and the battle had been lost, it was their last means of survival. With it gone, they no longer had a safety net.

But it appeared they would not need it. One by one, ships from the attacking fleet disappeared from the holographic display. "They're retreating!" hollered the tactical officer, his fist punching the air.

Peppy sighed with relief and leaned on the table. Once again, they had dodged the bullet. But this string of small victories couldn't last forever, and he, along with his superiors, knew it. Time was not on their side.

Still, they had one this battle, which the crew was already in the process of celebrating. Congratulatory slaps on the back and handshakes were being spread around the command deck, and the hare saw no reason to forbid it. They had earned their victory. Might as well live it up.

There were some things to take care of, though. Peppy cleared his throat, a common tactic he used to get attention of his command deck crew. "Jonathon, get us in that repair queue, the quicker the better."

The communication officer, a rather short ferret, nodded and went to work, speaking into his headset. Likely, they would get a position near the back of the line, being an outdated and less powerful ship, but Jonathon did have a way of talking to people. If anyone could get them into the repair bays sooner, it would be him.

The hare sighed again. He argued against receiving such a command at the beginning of the war, when team Star Fox had been initially split up. Taking charge of a warship was a younger man's job, someone with the energy and stamina to match his ship's. But Pepper had given him the position anyway, citing the hare's years of experience as more than enough of a reason to do so. Never mind the fact that he spent a good many of them in a cockpit of a fighter craft, and the rest on the command deck of a minimally crewed ship.

Peppy shook his head. Reminiscing and complaining weren't going to change anything. The _Autumn_ _Harbor_ was his, and that was that. As long as the war continued, it was unlikely to change.

…………….

How long had he been out? Hours? Days? It could have been weeks, for all his sense of time was doing him. His mind was still groggy, a side effect of the drugs they had given him. They needed him unconscious for transport, but to where?

Cal'tet opened his eyes. Only darkness stood before him. The Jaffa shook his head. He needed to give himself time to adjust. Eventually, details came into view: walls, objects, a lone obtuse shape in the corner.

"You're awake," the figure said, uncrossing his arms. "Good. Then we can get started."

The Jaffa tried to speak, but coughed instead, hacking up old phlegm. His second try was a success. "I won't betray my bothers."

The figure stood up, and more features became visible in the dark. Two eye turrets drifted as he walked, observing different parts of the same Jaffa.

"Funny. That's exactly what your other brothers said, before… well." His voice trailed off, and Cal'tet noticed his captor gave a small shrug. But what he had said about his other brothers, could that possibly mean…

"What did you do to my brothers?!" the Jaffa shouted, acting as if his voice carried authority even here.

The figure rushed forward and reached for something off to Cal'tet's side. A bright light sudden shined down the Jaffa's eyes, blinding him. A shape pain in his leg followed, along with the realization that a knife had been stabbed into it.

His captor, now revealed to be a chameleon, moved his lips to he Jaffa's ear. "Would you like to find out?"

Cal'tet's entire form burned with rage. He longed to wrap his hands around his captor's throat, but found his limps bound down to the chair.

"I will tear your still beating heart from your chest," the Jaffa said.

The chameleon darted back. "Sounds like a 'yes' to me!" he crackled, and gave the knife the knife a good twist. He retreated from his captive, and moved back into the darkness. He returned a moment later, a new tool in his hands.

"Let's find out what you know," Leon said, powering up the laser drill.

……………………….

"I'm afraid I wasn't able to get much out of the latest subject," Leon spoke, his head pointed to the door while he ran his hands over running water. "Just a few bits and details on his ship's movements. I've already sent over the report for review."

He moved to the living room compartment of his cabin, a holographic head of an aging leopard floating in the center. "What of the subject?" the head spoke, his voice mangled slightly by the transmission.

"I'm afraid he couldn't handle the interrogation process," the chameleon informed, wearing a devilish smirk. "Unfortunate, but such is a case of war. People fight, and people die. And there will always be more to take their place. Right, General?"

The floating leopard reluctantly nodded. "I assume to want to know when your next 'subject' will be arriving?"

Leon shook his head. "No, thank you, sir. Sometimes it's good to be surprised, rather than doing the surprising."


End file.
